Time Flies, And What Is Past Is

Nobody, They Say, Is A Hero To His Valet. Of Course; For A Man Must Be A Hero To Understand A Hero. The Valet, I Dare Say, Has Great Respect For Some Person Of His Own Stamp.

This World Could Not Exist If It Were Not So Simple. The Ground Has Been Tilled A Thousand Years, Yet Its Powers Remain Ever The Same; A Little Rain, A Little Sun, And Each Spring It Grows Green Again.

Character Calls Forth Character.

Classicism Is Health, Romanticisim Is Sickness.

The Artist Has A Twofold Relation To Nature; He Is At Once Her Master And Her Slave.